


On Smoldering Ashes

by yawning_inF



Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Bruce Wayne Has Too Many Kids, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gun Violence, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Whump, child abuse/torture, no beta we die like- actually nevermind most of them have died, this honestly gets super dark further on, this is atla and I have canonbending powers, this so crappy yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yawning_inF/pseuds/yawning_inF
Summary: Bruce Wayne has gotten vulnerable. Bruce Wayne has found love. His love and his kids are all he needs to find happiness.Some sick concept of fate doesn't like him being happy.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne
Series: whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951417
Comments: 15
Kudos: 28
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Early hours of a nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for Whumptober 2020. Sorry if they're ooc, enjoy this as it gradually gets more and more painful :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whumptober 2020 days 1. Let's hang out sometime and 12. I think I've broken something

By January, he'd told her about the night at the theater. About the alley. How he had felt like his entire world was obliterated, sinking in his parents' blood, their eyes staring right through him with the eerie glint ot lifeless terror.

By February, he'd told her about Alfred. About how he had raised him in more ways than one. Not enough could be said about Alfred that would satisfy Bruce's love for him.

By March, he'd told her about his children and how he was so proud of each and every one of them, how he loved them more than anything in the world. They were all the meaning he truly needed in his life. He emphasized that he didn't know what he'd do without them. Where he'd _be_ without them.

By April, he'd told her what he did when he lost one of them. When he lost a piece of his soul.

By May, she met the eldest son. She wore her brightest smile and noone could tell her apart from the person she painted on herself.

By June, she met the youngest son. She kept any and all comments to herself, and instead chose to admire how much the boy resembled the father.

By late July, she had gotten to see him smile. Not one of the plastic, industrialized Brucie Wayne smiles, nor a half lit smirk. The true smile of the man behind the facade carefully tailored to appease the masses. A genuine reflection of the light in his heart.

And if that wasn't somehow insinuating that she'd been slowly let inside, by August she'd gotten to taste Alfred's infamous cucumber sandwiches, more than once.

"I'm Batman" he whispered sincerely in her ear one night of early September, which of course she already knew. She silenced him with a kiss and told him she didn't care. Told him that she loved him. Before he could revel in his happiness, or perhaps precisely then, the world was drowned passion.

By October she'd heard every story he had to share. Every weight he needed to let off his chest she carried, every muffled scream he expertly hid in late night conversations she was awake to listen and relieve. She even graced him with her own narratives lived through the eyes of a woman she never knew and never would. But to him, they were treasured like droplets of potable water in a desert. She had stitched together flesh and stitched together heart, carefully planting a thread that if she pulled would make him all unravel.

 _Oh,_ how she _yearned_ to make it _all unravel_.

Patience she no longer needed.

The time had come for the thread to be plucked.

***

Bruce walks all around the ball room, untouched glass of champagne in hand. Fake smiles change before him and his hand has been shaken more times than he can possibly keep track of. He congratulates somebody's kid that got into college, discusses financial partnerships with members of the elite, stroking their ego with a flattering speech about how much good their presence and financial assist has helped their oh so beautiful city of Gotham.

It all fades away so quickly, but the night's end is nowhere in sight. The great grandfather clock is ticking away the seconds almost pensively, dully enough that Bruce thinks he could fall asleep to its rythm.

He wishes he could anyway.

Somewhen amidst the bleakness of it all Bruce finds a spare moment to glance at the moonshine washed city before him on the other side of a window. It's a rare sight to be able to admire the lunar pathway illuminating the city skyline without thick smog clouding Gotham's view of the night sky.

The heavy oak doors creak in indication of motion and Bruce's head snaps towards the sound. And there, beside the mahogany entrance stands her, as beautiful as ever in her white gown hugging tightly around her waist and falling down to the ground with superfluous grace.

Bruce can't take his eyes off her as she looks around the ballroom, politely nodding at the people of varying prominence eyeing her intently, with esteem and curiosity all the same.

This is the first time he sees her.

 _This is the night they meet_ , Bruce observes.

Cecile is edging her way towards him and his hand twitches where it's hovering above his mildly inflated pocket. The ring sits comfortably enough encased in the same cashmere as him. Nonetheless his fingers are drawn to it like a magnet, itching to reveal it to her, dying to admire it delicately complimenting her eyes.

He's imagined the diamond shining on her pristine fingers many times before, but of course it never shines more brightly than her smile.

Cecile greets him ever so charmingly, extending her hand. Bruce offers his to be shaken in her grasp, and even though he can trace all the lines in her palm by memory, her skin feels foreign against his.

This is the first time they meet.

The ring has yet to be purchased, it can't be hidden in his pocket.

The night they met was months ago.

Cecile's image falters right in front of him, but his body doesn't seem to notice or care. He's left smiling and making small talk with the empty ballroom.

 _It's all fake_ , Bruce reminds his extracted self.

His self, who's still chasing after ghosts of memories from future and past alike.

***

When he realizes that he's been asleep, Bruce forces his eyelids open. They almost begrudgingly obey him, fluttering open drowsily as he struggles to will himself awake.

 _You're in your civilian clothes_ , he muses. His head is unpleasantly exposed to chilly air, the safety and burden of the cowl all the same isn't enveloping his skin. Neither is his belt as he can guess. Being completely stripped off his tools and armory is never a good sign when he doesn't know where he is.

So he tries to focus on exactly that.

Finding out where he is.

First thing he sees is the soft blue glow of pixel letters on a screen. The low contrast of blue on ebony feels prickly enough to his eyes when he attempts to figure out the words. The light of each letter blends in with one another until it has formed a melange of shapeless nothings.

Bruce squints with the lingering grogginess, determined to read the inscription. After staring contemplatively at the screen for a couple of seconds he concludes that written on it's sleek surface is the phrase 'Please Remain Calm'.

It's when the words are processed in his brain that he registers he has no feeling in his arms. Glancing up, he more hears than sees the chains, as if he needed to judge the situation with his eyes in the almost pitch black room to acknowledge that he'd been hanging from a rusty pipe on the rather low roof.

The batman inside him scolds him, and mocks him for his peak detective skills. Who knows what else he missed. Worlds Greatest Detective his a-

"B?" calls a voice from the shadows.

Bruce whirls around abruptly at the unforeseen sound rebounding on the walls. His rolling stomach protests by urging bile to rise all the way up to his mouth, but Bruce can't bring himself to care. He swallows back the bitter taste without blinking.

He knows who that voice belongs to, even if it's slightly distorted by the texture of the room.

No amount of vertigo could ever stop him from recognizing it.

From recognizing any of them.

"Jason?" his eyes search helplessly the shadows for the boy, to no avail. _Of course you can't see him. You're not Batman now. You don't have night vision_. "You're here too?"

"Yeah... Yeah. Wherever the fuck here is anyway. Just woke up?"

Bruce nods simply. He realizes a little late that the gesture was most likely lost amidst the darkness.

"-Yes. Just now" he adds quickly. In fact, his senses are still swimming and his stomach churning, but Jason doesn't need to be aware of that. "What about you?"

"Been up for a bit. Enough to know that these," Jason growls, pointedly moving around in his restraints to let Bruce hear the metal jingle, "Were probably made to hold King fucking Kong"

Bruce accepts the information with a soundless sigh. He doesn't acknowledge defeat though, he doesn't. He hasn't tried anything yet. And he knows Jason is perfectly capable of evaluating the situation himself. He knows if something could be done he could have done it.

But.. he doesn't _want_ to know it. Kidnappings never end well for any of the people involved. Which should be promising enough for their captors' inevitable fate, but he's not alone in here. He wouldn't mind enduring anything they might throw his way to acquire whatever knowledge they might be after. But he can't let his Jason go through the same pain as him.

So he's going to try everything again, himself.

Just perhaps.. perhaps after the gastric acids settle back down in his stomach. Yeah, he could assess the situation first. Figure out where they are. Doing so doesn't require much movement.

At the corners of his vision sleep demands to drag him back underneath, but on the other hand his head is reeling and the urge to vomit has a strong hold over him still. He suppresses both the vertigo dancing inside his head and the blooming ache in his hanging limbs, shakes his head in a feeble attempt to pull his thoughts out of the murky haziness that lingered after his wake.

An image briefly crosses his mind, bright and vibrant, yet it fades quicker than Bruce can form an impression of its context. It whispers a few words conspiratorially to him, a few words he's embarrassed to admit he hadn't thought of.

"The others," Bruce mutters under his breath.

"Hm?"

"The others," Bruce repeats sternly. "Where are the others?"

Jason stays quiet for a bit and Bruce's shoulders stiffen. With every passing beat he feels the pain shearing through his flesh all the more clearly.

"I don't know" Jason admits finally. "I don't know, I thought I was on my own before you woke up. This place doesn't exactly have the best lighting"

Bruce has already stopped paying attention to Jason's voice and anything else he might be saying. He's almost frantically searching and scouring every far corner of his mind to salvage any fragments of memories sunk deep inside sleep induced mist. The dark blue words that fail to illuminate anything other than the edges of the screen and the beginning of the pipeline climbing the ceiling only further contribute to his frustration.

He needs to remember what happened. Concentrating brings blurry images to the front of his mind but a strong headache stops him from attempting to decode the puzzle his fragments of memories compose.

So he travels further back in his mind, where events are more discernible.

The last thing he remembers is being in the Manor. He assumes that's where and when the ordeal took place. Everyone was there (aside from Kate, still abroad, and perhaps Alfred, if he could remember the time placement) because they had met Cecile for the first time-

 _Cecile_.

Cecile, who's a civilian. And if he and Jason were snatched that easily and with no recollection of how it happened, then… if Cecile and the kids aren't here with them..

Bruce's ear picks up rustling of metal and his thoughts are interrupted.

"Was that you?" he whispers to Jason.

For a brief moment the young vigilante remains silent. His probable reaction can be brought to Bruce's memory clearly as day. He doesn't need sight to decide it's not a good sign.

The presence of his pause is never consoling, least of all now.

" _No_ ," he replies.

Silence.

And again sound, echoing for just half a second.

"Who the fuck is there?"

"Jay? Jay it's me" a startled voice calls.

_Duke_

"It's me, Duke."

Bruce heaves a breath of relief, but his heart only clenches up tighter.

***

Cassandra wakes up soon after. Then the others. They're all here, together. The concentrated effort that must have been required from their captors to achieve that is daunting, making their intentions appear darker and dangerous as they sit shrouded in mist.

As soon as every last of them have opened their eyes a couple of groaning light bulbs nestled in between pipes flicker to life.

The light reveals his… affiliates' position and dishevelled state. The sedative induced retching is only now beginning to abate, leaving the prickly sensation on his throat behind.

The last bulb to switch on illuminates the space just behind the screen which is now displaying nothing but tv static. The presence o light at last makes known the existence of a man of heavy build dressed in all black and opaque sunglasses standing proudly behind a layer of protective glass.

The bulletproof glass, if Bruce were to make an estimated guess, is attached as a window to the wall facing the bats, and them also faces the man with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Small drawn patches of exposed skin tease Bruce's memory, but he can't quite figure out the exact shape of the tattoo on the man's forearm. A quick glance at the henchman -he supposes- gets Bruce knowledge of a lump that could easily be hiding a gun, and a wire that most likely serves as part of a communications device.

He spots the slit of a sliding door to his right and past the space Jason is positioned, hanging from the second pipe. No indication of a handle.

The room large in depth, and while Tim, Damian, Cass and Stephanie are bound to the same pipeline as him, Dick, Barbara, and Duke follow right behind Jason in that order.

They can't escape, is the bitter realization.

In no way can they reach one another as their feet hover helplessly above the ground. Heavy cuffs are holding their fists securely in place, clenched uncomfortably in the heart of the metal.

Bruce can only hope whoever the man in black works for will slip up and give them an opportunity to strike.

They're all perfectly capable of handling the situation, no matter how hard his heart is beating in his ears, all showered in concern for the young people here with him.

And the people that are not with.

Cecile was _with them_.

Now she isn't.

She must be somewhere else. She's still alive, Bruce know this. She has to be.

And he's about to find out where.

"There was another woman with us. Where are you keeping her?" Bruce inquires, and his speech gradually deepens as he leans into Batman's cruel, hoarse timbre.

The man doesn't spare him a second glance. Simply standing with the poise of a statue, ever unflinching.

The provocative absence of any type of response fills Bruce with equal pique as it does dejection. Before he knows it he's fuming and seething in powerful conniption, metal clashing against metal with the same ferocity.

Where is Cecile?!" he yells, thrashing about in his chains. "Tell me what you bastards did to Cecile!"

The man only stares blankly back at him. Bruce shouts even louder. The blood is boiling in his veins, the cacophony of the force with which the chains clash against one another and the pipeline can almost be described as ear numbing.

"Hey B! Bruce! Calm down, okay?"

_If they hurt her, he swears he will-_

Bruce's vehemence withers away when a familiar presence carefully closes the small door beside her and begins strutting her way towards the glass.

The _other_ side of the glass.

She stops right where he can soak up the sight of her and smiles, cocking an eyebrow. A smile so far from being as beautiful as he remembers it. This smile fills Bruce with dread. Just a little too wide to be kind. More teeth are showing than they normally should.

It's not as wide as the Joker's- they're _never_ as wide as the Joker's. But always just a little too wide.

"Well oh my! I'm flattered my absence has had such a huge impact on you, love. Truly"

All the air has been ripped out of Bruce's lungs in an instant, and all the air his delayed breaths provide is immediately rejected.

It can't- It can't be.

It can't be _Cecile_.

"No"

Not her. Not the woman he loves. Not the woman he'd trust with his life.

No, no, _no_ -

Cecile regards him curiously, finding it's the perfect time to play with her Auburn locks of hair before deciding to speak.

"Well for one, I have to give you this. It _was_ fun, while it lasted dear" she says with amusement. Clearly enjoying ripping Bruce's heart into a billion pieces.

Bruce feels nauseous, and this time the lingering aftereffects of whatever sort of sedative he's been injected with have absolutely nothing to do with it. The only creature residing in his eyes is heartache as Cecile forcefully shoves her betrayal down his throat with every laugh and word.

Bruce can only find it in himself to gawk at her, thunderstruck.

She gestures towards him, barely able to hold back snickers.

"It's just- I mean, this will surely be _plenty_ more enjoyable than our time together, not gonna lie"

Her silver eyes' malicious shine is unmasked, openly expressing itself. Her awful fits of laughter are as good as daggers embedded hilt deep into his chest but everything is fading with every new gash. Everything but his thoughts.

He has fallen for an illusion.

For nearly ten months, his entire life has been a lie. The foundation he built his newfound happiness on was never steady, and the first seism has arrived to shake his world apart.

Cecile is standing aside, looking particularly pleased with herself, and Bruce only wants to stop.

He only wants to cease existing.


	2. If any more blood is to be spilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @whumptober2020 days 3. Held At Gunpoint, 6. "Stop, Please", 9. "Take Me Instead", 14. Branding and 21. Stitches (Altprompt)

" _Why_ " Dick hears Bruce's voice implore. "Why are you _doing this?_ I thought-"

Bruce's merely balancing on his toes inches from the end of the cliff, Dick can figure just by the way his voice wavers like it has only ever done no more than a couple times in the past.

Cecile knows this. She knows Bruce, and she knows this. And quite possibly she's enjoying it way too much.

"Because, dear, who can say they're getting paid to practise their hobbies?"

Dick can only gawk at her, an frankly that's the only thing all the others seem able to do as well.

 _Hobbies_?

They're nothing but a plaything to her.

It doesn't seem right. This shouldn't be happening. Dick should be helping B plan the wedding that made him beam just at the thought of taking place.

Not being held in an unknown location by his could-be step mother.

They really dodged a bullet, but in doing so they fell right into a different trap.

His family's unable to speak, stunned by the sudden revelations. He can't blame them, nor can he blame Jason for cursing under his breath.

Barbara's the first to snap out of their trance.

"What could you possibly want that Bruce's money couldn't get you?" she asks. Her true goal though, expertly weaved inside is search of Cecile's motive.

There's none.

Cecile giggles. "Oh dear. It's never about _money_. It's not personal either, if that's what's bugging all of you. And although my client does pay a fair amount, in reality.. pain and suffering are simply _way too enjoyable."_

 _Client_ , Dick notes. _Somebody's paying for this. Somebody that most likely knows who they are when night falls. Somebody dangerous._

Cecile then turns to look directly at Bruce, as she expertly hides her poison inside cheerfully spoken words.

"And you, _love_ , with as many kids as you have here,-" she says, and Bruce's face crumples, "-are going to be a very, _very_ interesting subject"

Duke shakes his head in disbelief at the woman.

"You're sick"

Cecile sits back and ponders on this statement for a bit. Just for a split second, so it's enough to pass across that message, but not quite long to let them be freed from that entrapping mist of concurrent desire for knowledge, and repulse keeping them bound to every word that falls from her lips.

"Perhaps I am" she ventures.

"Perhaps we're all sick, just in different ways. Have you ever thought of that?"

Dick has in fact thought of that, but his answer would never share meaning with Cecile's. How different really are they from the people they fight? They lock all those costumed freaks up in Arkham, but they themselves could very well be described in the exact same way. Sometimes he wonders if they're insane for choosing this life, and the answer that his mind spits out is always _yes_.

Every life they save is worth it. That's the truth that makes him continue to put on the suit every night, even though the wounds inflicted on him the previous night are still healing.

But are they really making a difference? Aren't they just lunatics running around in kevlar and spandex

Isn't all the grime and mold of the city simply feeding off of them like leeches?

Dick can't focus on that now. Questioning his life choices might have to wait until he's not that tied up.

Heh. Tied up.

Meanwhile, Cecile has exploiged the moment of nonplussed silence she's created to tighten her sleek ponytail.

Keeping the attention to herself. Every move is calculated to milliseconds.

"Okay, so here's how this is going to go" she begins, clasping her hands together, then motioning towards their hanging limbs. "Do you see those cool little bracelets on your hands?"

On cue, nine heads tilt upwards to test Cecile's statement. And there, right on his forearm Dick can spot a faint blue light shining dully on what seems to be the middle of a silver-like device.

"Those give _us_ , the immense pleasure of electrocuting you whenever you folks might try to escape, or cause any unwanted trouble" she informs, with her mouth taut into a completely mechanical smile.

"Or.. you know. If we're just bored and feel like it"

"And this little screen right in front of you, it's pretty bland now, if you ask me"

She then starts pacing around in the segregated room, seeming to find great amusement in hearing how her heels click against the concrete.

"Well what if I told you the sight will get more entertaining?"

Dick doesn't like this.

"Before you ask, I will not spoil the experience for you. But I _will_ give you this: you will be the stars of a grand performance. You in particular, _circus boy_ should be thrilled by this fact"

He flinches when he mentions him in that way. It's then that his mind fully comprehend just _how much she knows them._

It's not just some kidnapping, of those they've had many before. But it's never been like this. Never has a stranger gotten so close only to betray them for laughs.

Some could argue that it was a similar case when Jason had come back, but Jason had always had a motivation. A goal.

Cecile's doing this for nothing else than pleasure.

Before he can compose himself and reply her voice strikes again, this time in the form of a snarl.

"So? Any volunteers?"

No, Dick doesn't like this at all.

"Leave them alone" Bruce demands, only it's not precisely Bruce anymore. Not only has his voice assumed the dark edge of the Knight, but his speech is completely neutral, apathetic. Somehow, his emotional state is even more prominent that way.

"It's me you want to get back to"

"Oh, no" Cecile frowns. "No, no _Brucie_. This is not about you. Hell, it's not even about them. It's about me. And I say it will be nicer to leave you for last."

She rests a finger on her chin contemplatively, but it's fake. It's all fake, and provocatively so. Cecile's head twists around so that her malicious glare lands on Damian.

"How about our little asshole over here?"

No. Not Damian. Never in a million years. Never in a _billion_ years.

"If you value your life you'll stay away you imbecilic Jezebel" Damian hisses, but Cecile makes no motion to enter their space. Instead, the man in black leaves his post to disappear behind the door Cecile had previously entered from, most likely leading even further away.

"I do value my life"

He comes back with three more identically dressed men, one slightly leaner than the other, and one slightly taller.

"Plenty, for that" she says loftily, and while one of the men returns to his post by her side, the other two barge in through a barely visible door next to the right end of the glass.

There's an outrage as the men quickly advance towards the boy. Everything's blurry and spinning and his ears are ringing so that Dick can't quite figure out if he's shouting along with his brothers and sisters or if he's simply been trapped in a lucid dream all this time.

Voices and bangs and thuds and yells, it all gets lost in the end. So much thunderous noice, yet still it can he broken down to its core. Raw and frantic cries of dissent, repeated over and over in a canon, until the words and senses are but a blurred collage of ire and desolation.

Cecile whips a rectangular device from her suit's pocket and before her finger has enough time to hover above one of the polished buttons, the last is pressed and Damian's body is released from the pipeline.

The boy wastes no time, immediately lunging for the men, and despite any rust slowing down his joints because of their inactivity, he manages to hold off the two men looming over him with size thrice his own.

Dick wants to hold hope inside his heart, but he knows it's futile. He also knows Damian is aware that this fight was lost before it even began, but his baby brother isn't a quitter, nor a coward by his own standards.

If Cecile is startled by Damian's fierce resistance, she doesn't let it show. Her finger finds the device held loosely in her grasp, and a different button is pushed. Sparks that are birthed from the device on Damian's forearm begin to climb throughout his every inch of flesh, until he soon collapses to the ground -like lifeless weight.

The men drag him out of their view, and Dick swears he witnessed a smirk manifesting on their faces while they yelled with all their might, yet completely powerless.

***

It starts with low and hollow grunts. It starts with insults, it starts with defiance, it starts with barely discernible hisses.

Most importantly, it starts with no image.

Only screams. Separated by breathless gasps.

"Please, stop"

Dick's heart shrinks into his chest, sinking deep, deep down, until his lungs are under too much pressure to expand.

The screen flickers to life only after the first hollow screams have subsided.

It's.. not a good sight. Nobody expected it to be.

The room is small and dark, the camera feed is black and white and grainy, but that doesn't help in reducing the horror.

The image focuses enough for Dick to make out Cecile finishing stitching deep gashes on Damian's torso back together in the worst way possible.

Cecile retracts her hand hastily, like she's forgotten something. She lolls her head to the side, waving primly towards the camera.

"Stay tuned for a surprise" she whispers almost conspiratorially before turning to Damian, severing the thread with her own fingers, picking at flesh and stretching it out until he's bleeding again all over the gurney he's tied onto.

Damian struggles not to let her hear the sound she would find oh so hedonic. He grits his teeth and grinds his jaw, but groans emanate from him without his consent.

Cecile sets the sutures and her other tools on a filthy table standing miserably beside her.

"Your brother's such an ass" she declares almost smugly, while shifting in her place to face the camera

Without a warning she pokes a finger inside Damian's open wound, evoking a strangled yelp of agony. Soon enough Cecile's retracted her finger. She brings her hand up to her face. She makes a show of admiring the fresh blood coating it, before she _tastes it._

She giggles nonchalantly, but there's that certain grace to everything she does.

"Don't worry. We're not done yet"

 _No_. No, this can't happen. He can't let this go on any longer than it already has.

He has to take his place. He'll take his brother's place.

Just, _god_. Just please listen..

"Take _me_ instead!" Dick screams at the top of his lungs, and the dread climbing up his ribcage seeps into his voice. Bent in ways abnormal, tuning in with his despair.

"Do you hear me?!"

He's flailing around wildly and almost hysterically, his voice is getting hoarser by the second. Kicking and bumping the air, but the chains are relentless, so that he's supposed to sit idly by and watch while his little brother is being tortured.

All alone in a dark room.

The man standing tall and unmoving on the other side of the glass only smirks slightly.

"Leave Damian alone!" Dick roars at the screen, and roars at the man, but he knows it's pointless.

Cecile smiles once again to the direction of the camera as she elegantly walks away from Damian, leaving him alone strapped to the gurney -panting, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Damian's head follows the woman even as she disappears out of Dick's sight. The boy's face crumples. Breathless pleas escape his trembling lips, in swift exhales of air that hold no power.

"Please no"

She reemerges cradling an incandescent piece of metal. The sickening calmness on her face is doused in its fiery glow, and all Dick can utter as he goes deathly pale and still is a breathless "No"

Dick finally has enough contact with reality to register his brothers and sisters' own twisting and shouting. The sounds are earpiercing but all hollow to his ears, and Dick only does acknowledge their existence by sight of tears on enraged faces, jaws snapping open with enough force to dislocate, muscles toned and clenched uncomfortably, bodies bent and struggling, in futile attempts to raise enough force and reach the glass to perhaps create a distraction.

Dick can't figure out the faces from his peripheral vision, nor does he care enough to try.

"No."

His eyes are stubbornly fixed on Damian's own, shining wide with terror as the metal illuminates his skin more and more clearly on the screen. On Damian, desperately tugging against the straps keeping him bound to the gurney to no avail, struggling to be freed before the red-hot iron burns the exposed skin of his chest.

"No.. please no" Damian mumbles, and he looks so small. Smaller than a child his age should look. More frightened than a child his age should be.

Dick had promised -to him and to himself- that he'd always be there for his little brother.

He watches helplessly as the metal sizzles the first layer of flesh. He watches as his little brother writhes and squirmes helplessly under the red-hot iron melting into his skin, and he realizes he can't keep his promise.

 _No, no, no, no,_ no

Damian is screaming with all his soul and all Cecile does is laugh. _Cecile is laughing, and Damian is being tortured because Dick couldn't keep his promise._

He _failed_ him.

"Take _me_!"

_Please no. Not Dami._

Every inch and acre of Dick's skin feels set aflame, but the pain is nothing but the child of wildfire blazing and burning in his chest. Its smoke has filled his eyes with tears burning like acid.

_Failed him._

In his ears buzz cracking woods and falling towers. Not his brother's screams and pleas for mercy, not the echoes of laughter, not the thundering cries of their family.

 _Failed_.

And because of his failure his _little robin_ is expected to endure agonizing pain, as also the wounds inflicted on him are what make Dick's failure not only discernible but grievous.

Failure equals repercussions.

Failure equals punishment.

Perhaps it's irrational, and perhaps he's lost his mind long, long ago. Perhaps this is all a nightmare that he can't wake up from, but Dick's senses don't deceive him.

His every cell is howling in despair but yelling and praying are not enough to relieve them of their pain. Flowers buried deep in ice, frantically searching for sunlight- too frantically to know that they're dead.

Dick failed him.

Dick should have been the one punished for this failure.

Only moments have passed but the agony grabs them and twists them, draws them out until seconds can't be told apart by eons.

Dick's eyes are fixed on the form spasming on the screen, but those eyes are empty and hollow.

Their azure blue has evaporated, their glossy white has been burnt to the ground. Obsidian vortexes shining with the life they've stolen from his soul in the half light, is all that is left of them.

Damian's voice is rough from the perpetual screaming, but Dick can hear no more.

So he prays to whatever deity listens that Cecile is reached by his own cries tearing through his throat with fading intensity. Perhaps so loudly the air is grazing his vocal cords more harshly than it should.

Perhaps so loudly he is already silent.

But Dick won't mind it even if they fail to produce a sound ever after these, as long as _his_ flesh is torn and burnt instead of Dami's.

The flesh being torn and burnt is his, in a way, but not in any way that matters.

The iron is removed and Damian's face slowly appears behind the sparse smoke of his own smoldering skin.

***

Cecile reappears behind the glass, walking ever so elegantly towards the barrier separating her from them. She peers at each and every one of them in amusement, deaf to te insults so full of hatred being hurled at her from every corner.

She smiles at the teary paths staining Cass and Barbara's cheeks,

_"You fucking-"_

_"-embodiment of evil and-"_

_"go-"_

She laughs at the veins popping on Duke, Jason and Stephanie's necks as they shout their lungs out, feebly attempting to stop the world from sinking,

_"I'm gonna fucking kill you"_

_"Jay calm down-"_

_"You're a repulsive.. abomination-"_

_"-to hell-"_

She gracefully snickers at Tim and Bruce's state of dishevelled resignation, a progression of the rage and agony to the point where they're no more prominent than their breathing,

_"You hear me? You're going to burn-"_

_"Don't you dare tell me to calm the fuck down, replacement"_

_"-in hell"_

_"He's right Jason, this doesn't help Dam-"_

_"you'll wish you were dead before I get my hands on you"_

But she stops in her track when her piercing hazel eyes land on Dick. So visibly worn out, yet determinedly burning holes through her with his glare.

She stops, and can only regard him in newfound interest.

Dick doesn't shift in his place. Doesn't bat an eye as he speaks with the power of a thousand thunderstorms enhancing the calmness in his voice.

He's made his mind.

It's his failure.

His decision.

"You'll stop" he says, almost nonchalantly.

Cecile cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll bring Damian back here with us. And you'll stop."

Cecile smirks ever so slightly.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite done with your brother yet. Besides, why would I do that?"

"Because you will" Dick growls, but soon enough he masks his outburst beneath a carefully tailored poker face.

Something unreadable passes across the woman's face. Dick assumes she's caught up to his thinking. _Of course she has_.

"Well, you wound me!" Cecile exaggerates, clasping a hand to her chest. Overacting the entire thing, on purpose no less. She's proven to be too much of a hypocrite for Dick to know she's only acting terribly _on purpose._

His stomach is urging him once more to let its contents out, only this time he's not sure it's just a lingering side effect of the drug.

"Although, while wounded, you can consider me intrigued."

Dick swallows thickly. He hopes Cecile doesn't hear him gulp as loudly as he sounds to his own ears.

"You'll stop. Leave Damian alone" he says and although his heart is beating a hundred times faster than it should, his stare is unyielding.

"And you'll take me instead"

Cecile eyes him half incredulously, half entertained, for moments that feels like an eternity. Dick is convinced his soul has already left his body, and the woman is simply left staring blankly at his hanging corpse.

She's still staring vacantly at his direction, with no indication of the fact changing.

But then she chuckles.

She chuckles, and soon snickers are finding their way up her throat one after the other, until her shoulders are shaking with laughter.

Yet the laughs escaping her are perfectly normal. Perfectly contained, just the average sound that could be prompted by an oddly funny joke. A joke so ridiculous it fulfills its purpose.

Perhaps that's the most terrifying part. How _human_ it is.

And Dick is showered in cold sweat when he repeats himself, voice sounding just a little more tight and frantic than need be, but Cecile pays him no mind, laughing silently on her own.

Cecile (most likely pointedly) ignores his protests, which are growing more and more despondent as he's fumbling for words, caught somewhere in the crevasse dividing dread and ire.

"Do whatever you want to do to me! Just-"

_He's just a child. Just an innocent child._

"-just leave Damian alone. And take me." Dick says.

_An innocent boy caught in the crossfire of a war he never swore to fight, but was instead compelled to win._

_His_ brother _caught in the crossfire. His_ Dami _._

His fault.

Dick's stuck in a loop. It doesn't end, it never does. Once it's starts there's no end to look forward to, there's merely one he can imagine, and they won't let him follow it.

All air leaves his lungs. Everything seems so peaceful when the flames tingling his heart have no more smoke to give.

"Take me."

His fault. His responsibility.

"Dick, no," Bruce pleads from behind him. Only then is it that he realizes the rest of them have grown silent, all eyes on him, reflecting the light nearly pensively.

Only then is it that he realizes he's been toeing the line of hysteria. That he doesn't know how to stop.

"B, I have to. I can't let Damia-"

"And I can't let any of you!" Bruce snaps. Dick is taken aback, only not due to the sonorous anger redirected towards him. Rather by the tears he can see glistening all over his father's irises.

Tears.

Shining all across his father's eyes.

_Under the enemy's scrutinus gaze, and still he let the sorrow swim all the way up to the surface._

Cecile has stopped laughing. Openly at least, as her palm is covering her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the giggles, perhaps not wanting to disturb the _show_. The bright smile lighting her eyes betrays her nonetheless.

"You're my _son_ , Dick. I can't let you do this. I can't let another of my children do this" Bruce concludes, never ending eye contact.

_Never trying to deny the tears._

All Dick wants is to give in to the pain of his own, and let Bruce wipe at his eyes and tell him it's all going to be alright, just when he was little.

But he isn't little anymore, is he?

Is he?

Is he strong enough?

No. Not a question. He has to. He has to be-

"I was dead, I should go in next. There's nothing she can do to me that I haven't already gone through" his brother's voice cuts in, disrupting the debate that's been won in his mind, long before it even started.

" _Half_ of us have died, Jason" Stephanie counters. "I don't mind going myself"

"You're not going Steph"

"I'll go then"

"The hell you are, replacement. You didn't make the cut for our club the first time, you'll not make it now.

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"

Cass clears her throat to get their attention.

"Me" she offers, and immediately after she's met with loud protests.

Dick watches as the others continue to fight between them, arguing on who should trade places with Damian. They can't understand that he has to do it. He doesn't expect them to. So when Cecile laughs and asks _who's it going to be?_ , his decision is adamant.

"Like I said. It will be me" Dick insists.

He's _not_ little anymore.

"No." Bruce says sternly. "No, you won't go. Do you hear me?"

Hfe _is_ strong enough. He has to be, so he's going to be.

Dick hears him, although elects to ignore him, staring proudly ahead, at the two men walking inside to retrieve him.

Bruce then is yelling, and the others protest, some are still fighting over which one of them should take Damian's place but it's already too late. The cuffs clink open and the two men go to stand by either of Dick's side as soon as his feet touch the ground.

Dick doesn't fight them. He doesn't mind being pushed around with his arms pressed behind his back so tightly his already sore muscles hurt as his arms are straining to bend backwards despite his flexibility. He doesn't mind, because he's doing it for his brother.

As long as his brother's safely reunited with the others, it doesn't matter whatever they might do to him.

Dick sends one last look to his family, and another full of a different kind of love directed right at Babs. He hopes his eyes delivers the thousand messages he doesn't have the time to relay with phrases.

The room is left in hush when the door slides closed behind him.

As far as looks go, Dick's were farewells.

As soon as Dick's dragged into the small room whose horrid purpose he's seen on camera, he spots Damian sitting upright against a corner, with a gun pressed to his temple.

Dick's shoulders stiffen and a breath catches on his throat. Still, it's all going to be alright. It's all going to be okay. Damian's going to be okay.

"I'd advise you not to try anything _smart_ , or-"

"I won't" Dick interrupts sharply.

Cecile stands to the side and gestures towards a skeletal armchair with untied restraining straps. Dick shudders at the thought of how many people have suffered on this same chair, and his stomach fills with dread as the knowledge that he's next settles in.

"Grayson wh-"

"It's okay Dames" Dick says softly, scrambling to regain his composure as he's forced onto the blood stained metal by the men.

He winces when they securely latch the straps around his wrists and ankles, so tightly the leather is pressing into his skin, disrupting blood circulation.

Damian looks hurt and afraid, so Dick does his best swallow his own accelerating fear and suppress the shivers running down his spine, triggered by the icy feeling of metal on his skin.

"Everything is going to be okay"

Dick locks eyes with him and plasters something that feels like the poor excuse of a smile on his face, but he knows it must appear somewhat comforting to his little brother.

Masking his unraveling self beneath a charming smile and a lighthearted joke has always been his gift and curse.

Cecile clasps her hands together impatiently and nods towards the man holding the gun. He hastily shoves Damian into the arms of the leanest of the men, while his extended arm is turned around to point at Dick's head instead.

Damian yelps and as his arms are restrained behind his back, the hideous burn on his exposed chest comes into Dick's full view.

Dick's breath hitches despite himself and.. and..

It's...

The ghastly tendrils of burnt skin spreading across his little Robin's chest that spell out the word _brat_ …

Dick could never describe the utter despair and pain and sorrow and ire and helplessness he feels, yet he doesn't have the time to stare right through the monstrosity etched onto his little brother's flesh as suddenly his chin is being pushed uncomfortably upwards by the barrel of the gun being pressed firmly against the soft skin right above his neck.

As Dick gulps, his Adam's apple bobs almost visibly on his inconveniently prolonged neck. The underlying dizziness finds the perfect opportunity to strike him again as his head slightly lolls backwards.

He no longer sees Damian, but amidst the sounds of his heartbeat echoing from inside the veins and taut muscles in his neck, a small and strangled _Richard_ finds its way to his ears.

"I'm fine" Dick assures, even though he's nothing but. "I'll be fine. Love you, lil bro"

The absence of an answer doesn't concern him as much as that of shuffling or any indication that Damian is guided out of the room.

That is, until a delicate stray sniffle rips his heart apart.

If he could glance at his little Dami, he'd be able to see his reflection fall from his watering eyes in teardrops that he can no longer contain.

Dick can imagine the silently crying face, and so he shuts his eyes closed harshly, trapping inside all the pain and anguish lest it makes way to the surface

With a wavering voice he demands:

"Now let Damian go"

When he reopens his eyes with a breathy gasp he's all alone, bound to the metal skeleton of the chair.

Relief floods his heart.

If any more blood is to be spilt, it shall be his.


	3. Something Rotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whumptober2020 days 10. Blood Loss, 11. Defiance-Crying, 16. Shoot the hostage, 17. Comfort (Alt), 26. Found Family (Alt), 28. Stoic Whumpees (Alt) and 29. Shot (Alt).
> 
> Look what's surprisingly arrived on time! uwu  
> Not in any way a shipping piece.

The door slides open unexpectedly, camera feed having be cut long before Dick took Damian's place in the room. As he's ushered inside with the rest of their family and all heads turn towards him, he can only faintly sense the undercurrents of shame and familiarity, but to say the truth they're hollow beneath the excruciating pain.

"Let me _go_. To my _son_ " Father snarls at Cecile sometime amidst the spinning twirl that is reality.

The corners of her mouth lift upward in a faint smile, but she doesn't even look at him.

"I don't think I will"

Damian shrinks even more as Cecile and his family keep on verbally sparring. He can't keep track of the conversation, the furious phrases exchanged are giving him a headache.

"-Jason Todd. You are one curious-"

Damian picks up Todd's name as it's somehow entered the conversation. What came before or after?

Static.

"She may go" Cecile decides. And he briefly sees Todd crossing the sea of family in front of him. He's gone behind that same door in a flash and nothing makes sense anymore when one of the men strides close to him and sets a tray with stitching tools, a bowl of water and a cloth jagged on one side down on the ground.

Cecile mumbles something, then she disappears leaving behind only the man standing tall and still like a sculpture behind the glass.

Damian feels lost.

The only thing he knows is that as soon as the sharp clink of the cuffs opening is heard, Brown is already darting across the room to reach him. Her leg almost gives out halfway, as she didn't even take the time to shake the numbness out of her limbs.

Damian is still standing in the corner of the room, back hunched and body slumped, gritting his teeth and grinding his jaw. _It's just too much_.

Brown skids to a halt just inches before plowing into him with her remaining force. She's panting and her eyes are bloodshot red, that's all the information Damian is able to process through the mind numbing pain.

Brown opens her mouth and closes it again. Eventually, she decides on wearing the poor excuse of a smile, bitter and worn out.

"Hey, Dami" she whispers.

He nods, staring down the cement. Something about the calmness and familiarity of her voice pushes him closer to the brim of tears.

Damian is better off on his own. He can suppress the pain deep down when he's alone. Family means he can be vulnerable. Brown is drawing the strangled cries out like a magnet, as they get caught in his throat, forming an enormous lump that decides he can't be allowed to speak. (not that Damian considers her family, she's merely an acquaintance).

Damian can't cry.

There are too many people, people he won't bring the pleasure of witnessing his tears and people he can't afford to let down. He can't allow himself to show any more weakness than he already has.

He can't.

So he pushes back the tears, only it's so much harder when his skin stings and burns like it's been set aflame, and his family feels so far out of his grasp.

"Dami" Brown repeats softly.

Her voice sounds so far away from him.

"Can I have a look at that?" she asks politely, gently resting the tips of her fingers on Damian's arms crossed loosely in front of his bare chest.

Damian doesn't respond, but his arms are uncrossed, ever so hesitantly. He can sense Brown's eyes lingering on the torn, burnt tissue, and his shirtless chest somehow feels naked, more naked than it is.

Brown's face loses all color and a mumbled word falls of her lips, but Damian's focus is solely utilized to even out his breathing.

His hands are hanging limply at his sides but his muscles feel unable to unclench, so tense has claimed the position of their new normal.

"Dick.. he-" Damian begins to say. Brown cuts him off with a swift motion of her hand.

"I know," she says solemnly, "I know. But right now, I need to know how _you're_ doing"

"I..." Damian trails off, shaking his head and taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Those cuts need.. need to be stitched all over again, and… And the burn. The burn needs-" Damian stops, as his eyes travel downward and rest on his chest for just a split second before he averts his gaze hastily.

"How are you?" she asks again, her brow creasing.

"I'm fine, it's not fatal. I'm not in danger, I-" Damian mumbles, looking away. Stephanie gently touches his right arm, the heel of the palm of which has shot up to wipe at his eyes. He flinches despite himself, and Brown retracts her fingers as something unreadable passes across her face.

 _Something got into my eye_ , Damian's about to say when he turns around to face her, but something about Stephanie's sincere expression as she kneels down beside him to get to his height commands the act to be dropped.

He stares at her as she takes the damp cloth in hand and gently presses on the massive, monstrous burn on his chest. Damian winces at first, but soon enough the comfortable cold spreads, soothing the wildfire burning throughout his flesh.

Before he knows it, Stephanie's already wrapped the dry bandage around his torso, cursing underneath her breath for the lack of any kind of antibiotic. Low enough that Damian can barely hear her.

She sits back on her knees and scours his eyes, mostly so he can look at hers, find comfort. She cautiously raises a hand towards his shoulder, and when she sees that Damian accepts the warmth without recoiling she lets it rest there, giving him a tight lipped smile.

Damian leans in just a bit, whether he wants to or not. Frankly, he hasn't made his own mind on the matter.

He glances beside the blonde tufts of hair, drinking the sight of all the others staring at him in once more, and shame tickles him as he examines the variety of pained expressions. He's still too lost in his own aches to concentrate and decipher them.

"Hey. Dami"

The boy locks eyes with Stephanie again, as her voice demands, ever so softly.

"Earlier.. you said that I shouldn't be worried. Cause the burn and the cuts aren't that severe" she continues. Damian thinks she might have bitten her lip right after, but he could very well be wrong in the half light.

"But, that's not what I was asking about," Stephanie tells him. She smiles, looking at him, or rather through him, until Damian can no longer string up a set of words to dismiss the subject, until he can no longer withhold the burden he's wanted to set free since...

Since.

"It _hurts_ " Damian croaks out.

Admitting it finally convinces his eyes to stop holding back the tears, despite his struggle to contain them. Stephanie's arms reach out for him, just as the boy is about to crumple into himself. He's not talking about physical pain, but he assumes Stephanie knows that.

_It hurts, trying to be strong._

He lets her envelope him in her embrace, lets her hide him from the rest of the world before the first tear is shed. And in there, hidden in her warmth, Damian is shaking and crying, clinging to her for dear life.

"It just hurts _so much_ "

"I know Dami" Stephanie says as softly as she can, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry-!"

_It hurts to be used. It hurts to feel alone. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts-_

Any effort she might have made to stay calm -stay strong- completely collapses as she bursts out crying. The barrier she's built to stop the tears from overflowing on the brim of her eyes proves to be weaker than a sister's pain.

His sister feels safe, so Damian is latching onto her all the more tightly, barely even considering he might be aggravating his injuries. In the safety of her heat it's just Stephanie and Damian, and she's rubbing comforting circles on his skin, and he's voicelessly screaming against the crook of her neck.

She may not be in any way of blood or law his sister, but they can both feel the strings of fate tugging and knitting their hearts together in its complex tapestry.

Tears are streaming down both their faces, leaving traces on their flesh, but it's okay, everything's okay except nothing is. Damian's nails are almost digging in her back but Stephanie doesn't seem to mind as sobs start wreaking through him, awakening an ancient ache in his bones

"I can't- do this amymore-" he heaves and his sister's grip is readjusted on his back, so she's holding him tighter.

"I can't- please"

"It's okay" she soothes. Her eyes are stubbornly shut, although the tears still demand to be freed.

"It's okay. I've got you"

Her words are louder and determined, and they pierce through the air to be heard over Damian's sobbing. He shudders but Steph is holding him, and he soaks up her warmth greedily. This heat almost feels like a dead man's last hope, and perhaps the pain isn't fading yet, but at least he knows his soul can still blossom.

"Everything's gonna be okay"

Damian doesn't believe her. Not yet. But his sister's got him. Even when everything is wrong.

His sobs are finally subsiding, dissolving into soundless heaves.

His sister's got him.

So Damian's going to melt into her touch and let the sorrow wet eachother's skin, until he can believe her.

***

Jason is shoved inside the room, and the door slams closed behind him. He surveys his surroundings, even though he doesn't need to. The small space is already too damn familiar with him.

This time he's on the other end of the camera. A thought that would have been somewhat comforting had he been alone in there. But his bro- Dick, Dick is in there with him and he isn't looking particularly well.

Strapped to the corroded metal chair. To an outsider, he'd seem to be holding himself well, more than well to be exact. But Jason knows. Much like himself, Dick always covered the fear so well others would think he had none.

It's more of a requirement for being a bat. Fear is unacceptable in their line of work.

Dick notices him immediately, but he doesn't say anything. Which truly is the most concerning thing of them all. But it is justified. If he knows Dick, his blood is boiling with anger, and he wasn't made ideally to be able to contain it.

Jason barely does.

Before Jason and Dick are able to exchange any word between them, or Jason can loosen the leather enough for Dick to escape, they're interrupted by Cecile's entrance.

She strolls inside with the small device in hand, and behind her follow the two men, accompanied by two obviously malnutritioned teenage boys in muddy and ragged clothes. Trembling and shaking in terror as they're being pushed and shoved inside the room through a door on the wall opposite the one Jason was escorted in through.

How quickly the men managed to go around the room and bring in the kids would be beyond Jason, had he not noticed that these were different security guys than his earlier company. One of them bore a subtle scar across his left eyebrow not quite concealed by his unnecessary sunglasses, while the other had slightly lighter hair.

"Is this the part when everybody comes in dressed as pumpkins yelling trick or treat?" Jason scoffs, his eyes narrowing in what he hopes comes across as exasperation.

Cecile is generous enough to grace him with one of her signature, courtly fits of laughter.

"Hilarious. Though I must inform you that soon enough there won't be much room for jokes"

" _Wow_ " Jason taunts, eyebrows shooting up mockingly. "I'm _shaking_ in my boots"

The woman flashes him an incredulous look that's quickly dismissed.

"Oh, but dear. That was never my intention!" Cecile exclaims, smiling wide and bright. "In fact, I'm doing this for you! So you can finally reach your true potential"

"And good old Dickie-boy here," she says, gesturing at Dick who scowls at her, "will aid us in our little goal"

"Which is what exactly?" Dick questions, frowning deeply while nervously tapping his index on the metal of the chair. It's a sound nearly imperceptible but Jason takes notice. He figures Cecile did as well.

"But it's your brother's of course! You know it as well as I do"

"Now, my dear boy" she says loftily. "Get that knife on the metal tray. And don't try anything stupid"

Jason glance to his left, and spots the tray set onto a small sized table next to what he supposes must be the gurney they saw on the screen.

The sight of its entirety being drenched in blood makes him shudder and the sudden overflow of rage travels all the way down his hands, demanding to be freed.

_That's Damian's blood._

Nobody gets to hurt the baby demon unpunished, not if Jason can help that.

Nobody.

"You know, for someone who claims to know me so well," Jason begins, edging towards the small table with the surgical tools and two long knives sharp as daggers while maintaining eye contact with Cecile. "You haven't considered that."

"I don't take well to orders"

As he says that the knife has been hurled from his still outstretched arm and bounces on the metal of the far door, forming a lump but falling uselessly to the floor as it's lost its momentum. Cecile dodged the flying blade effortlessly, but even though the feat in its own right is extraordinary, Jason's already lunging for the man closest to him.

He can't waste any time. He's already made his move.

Decking him repeatedly in the face, jaw and neck while exploiting the element of surprise, Jason ducks underneath the man's arm to avoid it plowing into him, yet he fails to block the man's swift right hook which hits him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Jason is ready to continue fighting the man after he's recollected himself but he skids to halt because of Dick's voice calling his name and telling him -loudly, though calmly- to stop.

Because Jason looks past the man, and spots Cecile pressing a gun to the head of one of the kids -one wearing a filthy red hoodie- as the boy looks pale and ready to faint.

"P-please, s-sir" the boy stutters, wincing and shutting his eyes as Cecile pushes the kid's head slightly to the side with the gun. "I don't want t-to die"

Jason's frozen. The kid... the kid looks so scared. He's so scared, and how can he help him? He can't. He just… He just has to… to abide Cecile. And the kid will be okay. He's too young to die. Too innocent to die.

"It's alright. You're going to be fine, what's your name?" Jason hears Dick attempt to comfort the boy. He's not sure whether the sight of him tied to a blood stained armchair is in any way reassuring, but it's better than nothing.

The boy gulps and waits a second, before deciding to speak in a brittle, shaky voice.

"Jack"

"Okay, Jack. You're gonna be alright. No one's gonna hurt you. I promise"

Jason can't help the uneasiness building up in the back of his throat. He mentally shakes it away and focuses on keeping from provoking a trigger-happy Cecile.

"What do you want?" he asks, trying hard to restrain himself from squinting and keeping his tone blank.

Well, alright. He could have tried a little harder. But by keeping all of the sarcasm growing on the tip of his tongue in he feels like he'll burst.

Cecile then beams at him, and if he can compare her expression to anything, it'd be a cheap mimicry of none other than the Joker.

And to think before this thought he was convinced he couldn't loathe her more.

"Grab the second knife. If you haven't realized it yet, I'm doing you a favor!" she announces. "You'll finally be able to go through with the plan you set your mind on not so long ago"

Cecile nods towards Dick.

"I believe you've wanted to gut that one quite a while, haven't you"

Dick's face goes slack. Jason carefully picks up the knife from the metal tray and gulps, but suddenly his saliva refuses to travel down his throat, almost as if it's attempting to choke him.

He turns his head away from the blade in his slightly shaky hand, and towards Cecile.

"And if I refuse?"

The woman looks down, chuckling to herself before facing him once more. The soft click of a gun being cocked shouldn't be upsetting Jason so greatly, that sound is part of his every day life, but yet it does. Jason can sense the hill in his veins when Cecile speaks up, voice low, as if she's sharing a prized secret:

"Well in that case… Our little sweetheart here, _Jack_ , will have his brains blown out

Jason shakes his head. The kid's leg gives out as a weak whimper escapes his mouth. The second boy cowers in fright, retreating against the far wall.

"You're bluffing"

"Jason-"

 _Bang_.

Cecile lets Jack's lifeless body slump to the ground. Jason feels his empty eyes stare right at his soul. So full of terror. So full of betrayal. They ask him *why* for just a second, just a fraction of a second before they're completely covered in his own blood.

She-

"You fucking monster you killed him!" he roars. Knife now being tightly squeezed inside his grasp, so tightly his knuckles are turning white and the skin of his palm begins to ache he runs for the wretched, repulsive woman standing just a few feet in front of him.

He's going to kill her. If it's the last thing he'll do. He's proposed the idea to himself a couple times before.

Jason knows it's what Dick wants as well. Even if he'd never admit it to his face.

That monstrous fiend hastily swims towards the second boy, who's no longer exactly there. His breathing is accelerating in quick pace as he glares wide-eyed at the pool of blood forming around Jack's limp head.

_He died so young. And god, so scared, and._

_And god. He died in vain._

She wraps an arm around the kid's shoulder, trapping his shaking body in place.

"Ahahaah!" she coughs out, raising her index towards Jason as a warning. "Be careful. This one's still alive"

The boy's hunched shoulders arch back suddenly, and his muscles visibly tense as Cecile touches his grey sweatshirt with the barrel of her gun. The fabric creases and the boy's widened eyes are sending Jason a petrified, awfully pleading look.

Jason's mind is fuzzier than a murky swamp, and he feels trapped by the vines and mud inside the inky waters.

_"You. Clean up this mess"_

Dick is saying something to Cecile. Spitting at her. Jason hears none of it. By the time his breaths are less shallow and rapid and he can actually process anything other than the raw rage and panic and the smell of blood the room's beginning to reek of the only thing he hears is Cecile's honeyed, yet somehow simultaneously icy words:

"I don't play games, boy. Have fun, yes. But I don't play games"

"Now. Jason" she calls. Jason tries his hardest to regain his composure, subconsciously wishing she didn't realize how he zoned out, how he feels sick in every part of his body with the competence to register illness.

Yeah. Wishful thinking.

"This little scene has gone on for far too long. Walk towards your _brother_. Slowly" the woman orders. The hand brandishing the weapon slides all the way up the petrified kid's back, tracing his spine.. and resting right on the nape of his neck. "Or our little friend here won't have the pleasure of dying a quick death"

It suddenly dawns on Jason that he's still holding tightly onto the knife. He takes a few steps towards Dick until he's standing directly over him.

"You know what to do"

Jason takes in a deep breath. He catches Dick's gaze, steely and proud, but directing a certain softness at his conscience. _It's okay,_ the glossy azures tells him. Jason doesn't believe them for a second.

"What are you waiting for? You could never live up to the golden boy, could you?"

Cecile's words struck chords relentlessly. Digging up sensations of consuming madness and rage, of a raucous voice of insanity whispering sweet words of destruction into his ear. Playing a memory he'd rather forget.

"You spent a life living in his shadow"

Resounding in the exact same tune as his insanity. Washing over him in corrupted waves, pestering him to let them devour him.

"Do you really want to waste another one?"

_What are you waiting for?_

"Don't listen to her" Dick whispers under his breath. "Do what she says, but don't listen to her." By the time Jason chooses not to respond he can't decided if the words truly fell of Dick's lips, or he dreamt it.

_Why are you waiting._

If it was simply his mind's last line of defense before giving in to the cold. A frantic final attempt to ensure it's own shriveling protection.

_You want this. You never stopped wanting this._

Oh. Poor mind.

Noone can save you now.

 _Give in already_.

"My finger is starting to get a little twitchy, just so you know dear. Don't test my patience"

"Okay, Jeez" Jason breathes out, just for the sake of it. Cecile can't know that he's already falling apart bit by bit.

Jason readjusts his grip on the knife, it feels heavy in his hand. He sends an apologetic glance towards Dick who nods through gritted teeth.

He begins to press the knife on his brother's skin, slightly pressing so it draws a small trace of blood.

"Deeper" Cecile demands and Jason's hand complies, because there's nothing else he can do.

Dick grits his teeth, hissing quietly as the knife presses harder against his flesh and blood starts to seep through the larger and larger gash.

"Deeper!"

Jason scowls and forces himself not to visibly wince or recoil when the sharp breaths give way to grunts and shouts escaping his brother even when Jason knows Dick is trying his hardest not to surrender to the pain, not to please the sadistic b*tch any further.

It's hard to separate his creasing brows when Jason is the one directing the blade to travel all along the elder brother's skin, painting it red in blood that forms in hopefully steady lines and like it melts, it drips onto everything existing beneath, and sticks to his fingers and the blade, getting darker with every fight of tissue against it.

"Come _on_ , Jay Jay" Cecile speaks again, carrying the same poison with his mind. "I know you can do better than that! After all, it's what-"

_-you were meant to do_ _._

_"Deeper."_

No.

No. That's not what he's meant to do. That's not something that was awaiting to happen, not fate, not destiny. Only a nightmare tamed and been stored aside, in locked boxes never to be opened.

Jason is ready to object, but Dick stops him, and the oddest thing is Jason has no idea how.

"Do it," Dick pants.

And there's something about his tone, something about his resolve that convinces Jason's mind that he has to obey. And so he does, letting out a soft _okay_ before embedding the blade in his brother's flesh.

Dick screams, even through the mental barricade struggling to hold its ground. Dick screams, and Jason's face crumples and Cecile laughs as she yells _Again!_. She laughs as blood is pouring all over the place, _there's just so much blood_ , and Dick is screaming throughout it all, until he isn't and Jason can't keep track of how many times his blood soaked hand has dove and become the source of pain when Dick is no longer awake.

The pulsing green in Jason's eyes fades. His chest begins to rise up and down in a dizzying pace and his breaths are becoming too shallow, inadequate.

He looks down on the his hand, on the blood tickling along their way towards his forearm, climbing down the blade. He frantically drops the knife, as if he was shot by electricity. It clatters loudly on the ground, but in a way its hilt is still aligned with the lines in his palm.

Jason's hands are dyed in blood, and even though the red will wash away from his skin eventually, it will never truly disappear.

He already had so many regrets weighing down on his soul. He didn't-

He didn't fucking need this one.

And if Dick-

If Dick dares die on him… Jason-

Well there won't be anything else to do.

"There you go. Now, wasn't that so cathartic?"

Nothing else to do, except..

"I know you've always wanted it, deep in your heart" Cecile smirks, beginning to pace around the room. Jason notices with astonishment that the second kid is no longer inside, and that Cecile is clasping the device again, instead of her gun.

The woman sighs longingly.

"Must be so refreshing"

Jason thinks. And he thinks. And all the thinking and pondering points to one possible solution.

"Shut up," he mumbles.

The device should have control over the mechanisms that will release the others. A long shot, truly, but other option does he have? What other chance do any of them have?

"Well of course I knew you had it in you. People don't change"

A lie.

…right?

 _Plan, Jason. Focus_ , he reprimands himself.

Cecile seems keen on opposing his futile attempts.

"They never do, even if they try. And I know you tried. Suucks I bet" she chuckles, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up," he says. Louder, but still through gritted teeth.

Normally he wouldn't have any issue with taking her down while she drags out that classic villain speech mumbo jumbo. But…

But tonight he…

He…

He messed up. And it wasn't even his fault.

Wasn't it really? Who's to say he doesn't carry as much blame as Cecile? Who's to say the kid didn't die because of him?

Who's to say _Dick_ won't die because of him?

"You never will get to feel your family's love. Because you'll always.. always be rotten inside"

Rotten. Broken. Useless.

"Always"

The desolation that flashes across his face is immediately masked underneath rage and anger.

Plan's thrown out the window. He runs at Cecile. He has no weapon on him but it's alright. He's going to kill her with his own bare hands.

He's already rotten, he's already lost. The least he can do for _them_ is to get rid of this disruption once and for all.

And then he can rid them of the burden that is himself.

He's been fine on his own before.

Correction. He's been surviving on his own for as long as he can remember.

He'll survive alone.

Even if he doesn't want to _have to_.

Cecile simply takes a step back from the shock, but the only thing forming on her face is a devious smirk as she brandishes the controller mockingly in front of him.

Her glossy nail traces the button, and when it's pressed Jason collapses in a fit of seizures, a blood curdling scream thundering through his trachea, but only for a second as he then sinks down.

And when he sinks, he sinks down in the blood he's drawn.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you could give some feedback and tell me what you think I'd greatly appreciate it! Love yall


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